Tokyo Nights: An OHSHC FanFiction
by aspiringauthor013
Summary: Marilyn's life has done a complete 360. All of a sudden, her mother is dead, she founds out who her father is, and is suddenly a millionaire. Now that she attends Ouran Academy, can the members of the host club heal her wounds by becoming true friends?
1. Chapter 1

I didn't find out that I was filthy rich until I was fifteen years old.

See, I never knew my father, as he never knew me. My mother and him had an affair when she was quite young and studying abroad in Japan. He was older and already married with no children. When mother found out she was pregnant, she was back home in America and saw no need to bother him, as the workaholic wouldn't have been much of a father anyway. She knew nothing about him, and so as I grew older, I lived among thousands of questions that would go unanswered. Even if I had the courage to ask my mother who my father was, she couldn't have told me. She didn't even know his first name, as he'd gone by Ty. She knew that he'd moved to Japan right out of high school to start his own business. No address. No phone number. No name. My father was a mystery until my mother died.

Mother and I were a content family. We were born and raised New Yorkers, middle class, and had a healthy mother-daughter relationship. I went to a private school in Manhattan, maintained a B-plus average and steady group of friends, and was captain of the volleyball team as well as an avid violinist. She kept herself busy with her full-time job of being a yoga instructor a few blocks from our apartment. Mother always signed herself up for Taiwanese cooking classes and macrame sessions, anything to keep her busy. We seldom argued, because we were both notoriously shy and non-confrontational.

Well, one day after a Mandarin language course on 61st street the taxi driver taking her home hit another car, which hit another car, which hit into a streetlight. My mother was the only one killed. I didn't find out until that night when I'd come home from a volleyball game. The door was swung open and there was a squad of NYPD officers in my den. They gently gave me the news, asked me to pack a bag, and drove me to my uncle's house in Queens.

People always ask if I cried. Of course I did. She was my mother, I loved her to death. It didn't help how much I looked like her. Whenever I saw my reflection in the mirror it wasn't my long red curls I saw, or my deep brown eyes, or my pale complexion. It was all hers. I was staring at some kid that was just a replica of a beautiful woman taken from the world because of one hasty cab driver and a splash of bad luck. It hurt like no pain I'd ever felt in my life. When someone you love dies, it doesn't feel like you broke an arm or stubbed your toe. It doesn't feel like you've been punched in the throat or stabbed in the heart. Physically, you're fine. It's a pain deep inside you that throbs with every step, every breath you take. It's the worst kind of pain because the wounds can't be sewn with stitches and the pain can't be lessened with drugs, but regardless it still leaves a scar.

The arrangement with my uncle was quaint, he was a quiet man, an accountant with no wife or children. We got along well in the way where we didn't speak to each other and rarely crossed paths. I didn't go to school for the week I stayed with him, because that's what my government-appointed therapist insisted I do as a way of "self-healing". Obviously most therapists have never lost the only parental figure they had when they were high school sophomores. A vacation from school didn't bring my mother back to life, I'll tell you that much. If anything it gave me more time to think. And with thought comes regret. What could I have done to prevent her death? Was it my fault for not asking her to come to the volleyball game? Watching sports is never something she would've enjoyed, but could it have spared her life? I went crazy with different theories of how it'd been my fault. How I'd somehow been the reason she got into that particular taxi after Mandarin class.

But after that week of thinking I was called back to the police station. A stout police officer with an unfortunate mustache said the four words I'd never imagined being spoken to me. "We found your father." He took my silence for hesitance, but really I was in such shock I couldn't string words together in my head let alone out loud. "Unless your uncle is interested in adoption, or another family member of yours is set on being your guardian, we'll have to ship you out to Japan within the week. The government will pay of course, and your school marks will be transferred, as well as all of the credits from the courses you took. You'll live with him in Tokyo, go to school there, and reside there until you're eighteen. Then you can do as you please."

As the officer went on about legal forms and flight information and whether I wanted to see my therapist for a last minute session before I left, I managed to spit out the question I was most desperate for the answer to, "What's his name?"

The officers around the table in their office exchanged several looks resembling surprise, confusion, and pity. A younger one spoke up, "Tyler Fox." And I thought about it. All my life I'd gone by mother's last name, MacDonald. After all this time, all these years without knowing anything about the paternal aspect of my life, I wasn't even Marilyn MacDonald anymore. I was Marilyn Fox. A different person. No longer daughter Tessa MacDonald, or niece Oswald MacDonald. Just the daughter of Tyler Fox. Someone else entirely.

At that point I specified that I didn't have any more questions, and that night I packed my things, said goodbye to my uncle, thanked him, and gave him a number of letters to send to each of my friends from school. I couldn't even think about visiting them and explaining everything. They'd all find out anyway, and at least by the time they did I'd be far away in Tokyo. As I slept that night on the plane I tried to think positively. I'd never been to Japan before. It'd be an entirely new experience. I was basically fluent in the language as I'd taken Japanese language courses for years when mother went through her East Asia phase in which we ate only sushi and had dinner on the floor. I could write it relatively well, so school wouldn't be any more challenging. Apparently my father had signed me up for Japanese courses on the weekends, so I'd only improve with being able to communicate. I thought about how beautiful it was there, and how much technology and culture Tokyo harbors. I also thought about the last thing the police officers told me before I left.

"Marilyn, there's one last thing we think you should know. Your father... when he moved to Japan he started a business,"

"Yes, I know. Something with telemarketing." Mother had told me.

"Yes, a telemarketing business..which succeeds very well over in Tokyo. He's now the CEO of over fifty different corporations in his field. He owns a house there in which you'll reside with him and his wife, a beach house on the Japanese coast, and a townhouse in Belgium. You'll be inheriting the 100,000 dollars your mother left you transferred into yen, which will be in your bank account that he set up for you in Japan. But you'll also be getting the rights to 10% of his profits, which really adds up."

I paused. "So...he's loaded?"

The officers nodded at one another, "Completely."

As I rested in my first class cabin I pondered what it would be like to be wealthy, as I'd never experienced such a thing before. I drifted into sleep with dreams of fountains spewing gold and baths full of money, all of which seemed more intimidating than impressive.

When I stepped off the plane the next morning, I was told to look for a sign with my name on it. Sure enough, there was a tall middle-aged looking man holding a sign with "Marilyn Fox" on it. Way to help me acclimate to the new surname, "dad". He was wearing a crisp suit and dress shoes so shiny I could see my reflection. He had bags under his eyes and a few lines of aging on his face, but still looked enthusiastic and healthy. When we came face to face, we both seemed unsure of what to say. He had dark wavy hair that was slicked back, an Italian complexion, and green eyes. Despite our seemingly significant physical differences, you could certainly tell we were related. Something in the face or maybe something in the smile. Or lack thereof. I put out my hand, ready to initiate and set the relationship I was determined to have with this stranger, "Nice to meet you, Tyler." There was no way that I would accept the fact that he was my father just because of some shared DNA, my mother worked way harder than that to prove herself as a parent.

Tyler blushed but put his hand out as well, shaking mine firmly. "You too, kiddo." I raised an eyebrow at the nickname as our hands fell back to our sides. "Sorry. Look," he said, running a hand through his hair, "up until four days ago I had no idea I was even a parent. It's gonna take me a while before I'm father of the year." He turned and began to lead me towards the only Porsche in the parking lot. Of course.

"I'd expect nothing less." I said, walking a step ahead of him and smirking.

The car ride was just about as awkward as one would expect. Tyler informed me it'd take us about a half hour to get "home", so I took advantage of the forced time together and asked him a few questions. "So what's your wife's name?" I figured I'd start with that. What was she to me, anyway? A stepmother? A half-mother? A stranger staying in the same house as me? That's what Tyler seemed to be as well.

"Charice. You'll love her, and she's really excited to meet you. I know it'll take a while for you to warm up to her, but she's always wanted a daughter to spoil, so she'll make it very difficult not to like her." He smiled when he said her name. How could she be so excited when I'm just the result of her husband's infidelity? "In case you're wondering, I'd already told her about the affair all those years ago. So discovering that I had a daughter didn't make her angry so much as it made her shocked. And then a little sad." Perfect. The last thing I'd wanted was these people's pity. Tyler looked over at me for a second and then back to the road, "I don't know if you're anything like your mother, I didn't get to know her that well," he admitted, "but hell you sure look just like her."

I let the minutes go by before I asked, "Where will I be going to school?"

He lit up, "Oh it's this fantastic private school called Ouran Academy, in the heart of Tokyo. It has a fantastic studies program, I heard you play violin? Their music club is superb. And they also have a volleyball team." Done your research, eh Pop? "Students are organized by class. I know it sounds shallow, but it's a very prestigious school. There's all kinds of clubs and activities, you'll really get a feel for Japanese culture. The students there are from all over the world. You're in Class A as well, so you'll be on the top of the social ladder, I guess you could say."

"I don't really care about that kind of stuff." I lied. I was pretty popular back in New York, and I liked the idea of it being easy to make friends in a new country.

The house I'd be staying in was nothing short of a mansion. It had three floors, a gourmet kitchen, maids and servants and cooks and gardeners, and my bedroom was huge, painted light purple with a walk-in closet and its own bathroom. I'd wanted to put on a careless facade but I couldn't help but be star struck among the luxury. "Charice is away on business, she runs a culinary institute in Ichikawa. She'll be back tomorrow when you get home from school, I'll still be at work, so it's likely she's arranged some kind of activity for you both to spend some time together." He observed my less-then-delighted expression, "Just play nice, please. You're allowed to be mad at me, but Charice has good intentions."

He closed the door, leaving me in my solitude. By the time I'd finished unpacking and took a bubble bath in the gargantuan tub in my bathroom, it was late. I had to be up at seven so Tyler could drive me to Ouran Academy on his way to work. So I drifted off to sleep, glad there were no fountains outside, and that the tub had filled with water instead of gold.


	2. Chapter 2

I'm not exactly sure what I expected of Ouran Academy. I tried not to make it expect as much of me. I was dressed in the horribly girlish uniform they provided for female students, an A-line yellow dress with a pink ribbon on the collar, french braided my hair, and hoped for the best. I hadn't worn makeup since mother died. She always said a clean face was a happy face to persuade me to wash my face more consistently, but she wore little makeup herself. It just all seemed so pointless now. Clothes, hair, makeup. Those things used to matter when there was someone to impress. Here, at Ouran? Why bother trying to impress anyone. If someone was stupid enough to like me for the messed up, depressed, pathetic girl I'd become, it wouldn't matter if I was wearing a little blush. I clutched my purple velvet violin case to my chest, the ebony violin mother got me for my last birthday pulsing with my heartbeat. I never used a backpack, not even in New York. All I need in school is my violin, phone, wallet, keys, and a pencil or two, all of which easily fit into my violin case.

I climbed the dozen or so steps to the school's entrance and took a deep breath, whispering in my head for mother to help me through this day. "Use your angel wings," I whispered to her, "take me out of here. I don't belong here." A breeze lifted my skirt and I smiled, my mother's reply speaking for itself. Being strong is something I didn't have a choice over anymore. I closed my eyes for one last moment of relief, and prepared myself to walk through the doors of Ouran Academy when a wind blew me off my feet. It was a force of three running figures that caused me to lose my footing as I'd distracted myself.

Caught off guard, I began to fall backwards down the marble steps, but before I had time to react, a hand reached out and caught my wrist, pulling me back up into the arms of a slender blonde boy with violet eyes. "So sorry, princess!" He said, out of breath. The sweet-takling blonde looked over his shoulder angrily and shook his fist at a pair of ginger-haired twins hiding behind a column, "You nimrods almost made me push this poor girl down the stairs! Do you see what your antics lead to! It's about time you've realized how your actions affect others, why I'd never-"

The twins suddenly appeared on either side of the blonde. "Sorry." They said in unison.

The blonde stuck his hands on his hips. "You're sorry! How can you think that that would-?"

"Oh shut up boss, we don't need your lecture." Said the one on the right.

"Yeah we weren't trying to kill her, it was an accident." Said the one on the left as they shrugged simultaneously.

The three continued to squabble and I was at a loss for words. "Um, excuse me?" I said meekly. They stopped mid-battle and looked over at me, "Look, I'm fine, but thanks for saving me from taking a tumble there." I chuckled half-heartedly.

The blonde put his hand under his chin, scrutinizing me, "I don't believe I've ever seen you before. I'd recognize those beautiful eyes and your thick American accent." He lifted up my chin with his index finger, and giggled while I blushed instinctively, "What's your name, madame?"

Embarrassed I sidestepped so that I was facing the three of them - and I was away from the stairs - "Marilyn. I moved here from America, so I'm sorry my Japanese isn't very good."

"Actually your Japanese is good since you just moved here." The twins said at the same time. I raised an eyebrow, how on earth did they do that? They were very identical, so symmetrical it was almost comical. The twin on the left picked u my braid and played with it, "Pretty cute, too."

The one on the right with a higher brow-bone and a slightly rounder face leaned on the blonde boy, "So where in America are you from?" He asked as he played with the bow on my uniform.

"New York City." I said shyly. The three clapped for a few moments, dumbfounded as schoolboys, and I burst out laughing before I could stop myself. It'd been a long time since I laughed, but it erupted from my throat like a secret I'd been dying to tell. It was rich and whole-hearted and true.

Tamaki's grin stretched the skin on either side of his face more than I think humanly possible. "What's New York like! I heard there's elephants roaming in the streets and more hot dog carts than one could imagine! Oh and is it true that there's all kinds of crazy people running around with things to sell for cheap?"

"Uh, some of it's true! But truthfully, it's nothing compared to Tokyo. Anyway, what're your names?" I asked, wiping the first tears of joy I'd had in months from my eyes.

The blonde stepped forward, offering a rose, "I'm Suoh, but I just know we're going to be close indeed so you may call me Tamaki!" He was practically blushing with excitement as I accepted the rose and determined that flattery must be his niche. "I'm also president and co-founder of the host club, which I hope you'll be kind enough to visit regularly!" I put down my violin case. Host club? Didn't I read about that once? Where a bunch of boys sit around and entertain paying guests whilst pretending to have a romantic relationship with them that is far from actually existent? Please.

"We're Hikaru and Kaoru Hitachiin." Said the twins with devilish grins, "Can you guess which is which?" One winked.

Tamaki sighed, "Isn't it much too soon for the 'which one is Hikaru' game?"

"Well if I had to guess I'd say the one on my right is Hikaru and the one on my left is Kaoru." I said confidently. I just had a feeing.

The twins looked at each other, and Tamaki's jaw dropped, "She wasn't right, was she! On her first try!" The twins shellshocked looks told me that I was correct, and that this didn't happen often.

Kaoru laughed, "Well I'll be damned. You're the second person to ever tell us apart right away, Marilyn. Impressive. Very impressive." Only the second? How could no one tell them apart? The subtle differences in their faces, their voices, seemed pretty clear to me. Their attitudes were nothing alike as well. While they were both mischievous, Hikaru seemed braver and more daring, while Kaoru seemed more sensible and passionate. Mother always said I had a knack for understanding people before they understood me. She never said it like it was a good thing... but she said it none the less.

Hikaru smiled, "We're members of the host club that this idiot runs," Tamaki's cheeks grew red in anger, but Kaoru pushed his face away, "So if you do stop by..." They both leaned in towards me and spoke simultaneously, a habit that confused and terrified me, "Make sure to request us first." Then they appeared on either side of me and blew the tiniest burst of air into my ears. I jumped nervously. "Aw, how cute!" Hikaru said, "A shy one. Don't see many of those anymore." He observed, looking at Kaoru, who nodded.

Tamaki pulled his fingers through his hair effortlessly, "Regardless I do hope that someone as kind as you makes a stop in the host club quite soon. You are quite a breath of fresh air." Tamaki took my hand and spun me, and I clumsily stumbled.

I blushed, putting a loose curl behind my ear, "I don't know about a host club, it doesn't sound like my style. But maybe I'll see you in classes?"

Tamaki sighed, "I'm a second year."

The twins perked up, "We're first years! Show us your schedule!" They demanded, tearing it from my hands. I giggled.

As they circled the classes we had together in a pen Kaoru had whipped out of nowhere, Tamaki picked up my violin case, "An aspiring musician, hm?" I shrugged. I loved the violin, and I'd been playing all my life. It started when moter went through a classical-music-phase and we took mother-daughter violin lessons. She quit after a week, but allowed me to continue lessons privately, as I had a surprising talent for it. My recitals were the hardest things I ever had to do, as I hated playing in front of anyone aside from mother and my teacher. Mother would sit in the front row and buy me flowers and look me straight in the eyes while I played. Her gaze would never stray from me, even while her eyes brimmed with tears. Remembering this, I nodded more confidently. I didn't mind if this strange and flattering boy thought I was some kind of serious musician, although I could never imagine it. Aren't dreams of being a concert violinist usually the kind that almost always fall through? Tamaki lit up with excitement. "How quaint! I don't mean to brag but I am a musician myself," He stood taller and the twins rolled their eyes, meaning he most likely did mean to brag. "I'm a pianist, but that's nothing compared to the beauteous sound of a string instrument. You must play something for us!"

Suddenly the twins burst with joy, "Yes, you must!"

I shook my head briskly and gently took my case back from Tamaki, "No, really, I am quite shy... but it was really nice meeting you guys! I should head to class or something. Good luck in your host club! I'll see you around!"

As I turned off my heel walked away I was consumed with thoughts of embarrassment. Twenty minutes at Ouran and I'd already humiliated myself in front of three handsome boys. As I was out of earshot ,I had no idea that as I nervously looked through my schedule trying to figure out where my French class was, the boys were waving behind me.

Kaoru murmured, "Well that's no fun. She's different than the other girls."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" Asked Hikaru.

Kaoru shrugged, "I don't know. I like her, though. She reminds me of someone"

"Me too." Hikaru agreed.

And then Tamaki flashed them a smile. "Don't worry, men. I'm almost positive we'll see her again very soon."

The twins looked over at him, "Well yeah, we will, we have most of our classes with her." They stated in unison.

"You know that isn't what I mean. I'm talking about the host club!" Said Tamaki, spinning and posing dramatically.

"I don't think so, milord. She seemed pretty skeptical" Observed Hikaru.

But Tamaki smiled and shook his head, "There are some things a king just knows. And the most important thing a king knows is that when it's destined to be, it will be. I know for a fact that Marilyn was meant to cross our paths."

The twins punched him in the arms, "Don't call yourself king."

But Tamaki wasn't wrong. I had no idea that I would come face to face with these boys again, and that I would in fact find out more about the host club than I ever imagined. I had no idea what an important part of my life it would become either, but alas, all of these things would happen in time.


End file.
